Origins of Apollo
by LaMontagnarde
Summary: The story of Enjolras, from birth to death. What can make a person so cold, so passionate, and so perfect all at once? (The rating may change for future chapters.)
1. Introduction

Introduction  
  
(A/N: This is a story written by Enjolras when he was twenty. The later chapters are going to be written by Ana-Marie.)  
  
Before I tell my story, it is fitting that you know a little bit about me. My name is Marcelin Enjolras Lambert. I was named after a man my father revered and looked up to in business. My namesake also fought in the French Revolution! Maman and Papa called me Enjolras since I was born because Marcelin himself detested his first name and was always referred to as "Enjolras". By the time I was old enough to go to school, my mother told me it was okay it I wanted to be called Marcelin, but for some reason, I loved Marcelin Enjolras' story so much even at that young age, I decided to be called by my middle name always. But now I think I'm getting ahead of myself. I should introduce my family... 


	2. The Lambert Family

Chapter One – The Lambert Family  
  
I was born into a family of three. My father was Enriqué Lambert, a very successful businessman. He was a bourgeoisie, through and through, that much can be admitted. A skilled worker, he worked his way through the ranks of business while quite young using his fantastic charisma, says Maman. He was 32 when I was born. My mother Deirdre, 30, was an incredibly smart woman who ran a library next to our house. (The library was called La Maison des Livres. The logo was a small house built of books, whose spines displayed titles of famous old novels and plays.) She loved all books with a passion and had already begun to pass this passion on to a great number of people by the time I was born. Like my father, she had a natural gravitas that made people like and respect her. Unlike him, she also had a natural sparkle and vitality in her eyes, which I believed helped her in her causes in life, by infusing her speech with energy from her eyes. My father's eyes were dark and deep, drawing people into his life and ideas.  
  
Besides my parents, there was also Louis, my older brother. He was three years old when I was born. (A/N: I KNOW! Keep your pants on!) Even by three years old, he was already starting to give in to his comedic and mischievous nature.  
  
My birthday was July 14, 1810. Bastille Day. I'd never forget the significance of this, not ever. It was embedded in me for as long as I can remember. I always remember knowing my two personal connections with the Revolution. One was my name, the other my birthday. It was as if Fate bore me to be a rebellious child, though at the time, it still remained to be seen.  
  
When I was a year old, a new addition was made to the family. Ana-Marie. She was adorable! Both Louis and I loved Ana very much. We called her Petit Ana until she was twelve (which she never appreciated) and all of us spoiled her rotten, but thankfully she never put on airs. Our family lived in perfect peace with each other. Of course, we had our fair share of misfortune, too, but we always stuck together.  
  
One misfortune that befell my family occurred when I was only two years old. Maman and Louis told Ana and me as soon as we were old enough to understand. I can recite it from memory... 


	3. The Tragedy of Enrique Lambert

Chapter Two – The Tragedy of Enriqué Lambert  
  
It was a frozen December day. Brutally cold. There was a thin layer of ice over the ground and the small river running through the outer Parisian suburb. A friend of ours, Edouard Manont, was walking his dog, when he heard the opening bell at my mother's library. Maman always rang a bell to signify that it was opening time. This was a piece of nostalgia from her father's bookstore. Edouard turned around to wave to Maman, when the dog slipped. Edouard, in turn, was caught off guard and fell down ungracefully on his bottom. The dog, now panicked, ran stumbling forward right into the river!  
  
Edouard followed, and crashed through the ice. Papa saw this, since he was just leaving to work when this occurred. Seeing that no one was about to help, he rolled up his sleeves, dove right into the lake, and pulled out the unfortunate Edouard, who couldn't swim. Edouard seemed in shock, and ran back home with the nonplussed and shivering dog behind him. He soon recovered, his brain and body completely guarded from the real impact of the freezing water. Papa, however, stood on the riverbank shivering compulsively. Maman ran to him and brought him inside. For a while it was uncertain the effect the trauma had on him, but then he contracted pneumonia from infected water.  
  
A mere two weeks later he was dead. I always held my mother in the deepest respect because she suffered such loss so young, but managed to be cheerful for her life. Louis swears to remember this horrific event, but Ana and I clearly do not. All I know is this: the story of my father fills me with pride. He knowingly sacrificed himself for another. If only I could die half as well as he did. That would be a comforting thought. 


	4. The Royalist

Chapter Three – Enjolras, Age Five  
  
"Enjolras, get your brother at school and please tell him that he'll need to be back home by 6:00, not 8:00 like I told him. We're having company."  
  
Louis had started school at age seven, like I would in two years. Now he was eight years old. I went to go tell him Maman's message faithfully. The school was only a few minutes away from our house, so Maman didn't mind my leaving alone. As I walked down the road through the crisp autumn air, I noticed that school had obviously let out already, since the street was filling with people coming from the school. I went in that direction, searching out Louis.  
  
A tall child (by my five-year-old standards) boldly walked up to me.  
  
"Who are you, squirt?" I was taken aback by his abrupt behavior. What should I say? I decided to simply state my name and be on my way.  
  
"Enjolras Lambert." I mumbled, and started to walk away.  
  
"Hey, get back here!" he yelled, grabbing the collar of my shirt. "You don't have a familiar last name. Have a father, squirt? If so, he's obviously not very important. I'd have heard of him if he was." He was putting on airs! Maman would hate that!  
  
"My father's dead. Let me go!" As the boy started to say something else, a powerful voice came from behind me, calling  
  
"Henri Toussaud! Leave my brother alone or you'll get it!" It was Louis, backed up by several of his friends, who all looked bent on Henri's destruction. I hugged Louis as hard as I could and told him Maman's message. He seemed disappointed at the news, but thanked me for telling him and then glared at Henri for his audacity. Henri retreated into an army of his friends. I didn't know what to make of him. As I went home, I heard him call out, "Pathetic bastards! Both of you!"  
  
I broke into a run to escape the boy's taunts, most of which I didn't understand. When I got home, I must have looked upset, because Maman asked me "What's the matter?"  
"A mean boy made fun of me."  
"Aw, who?"  
"Henri Toussaud. He said my last name wasn't familiar and I don't have an important father. He also called me a pathetic bastard." Maman looked positively mortified at this, and her hands turned to fists. Then she softened her expression.  
"Here, Enjolras, let me tell you about certain people. You may find this scary now, but later, you'll find it's the way of the world...People like to think they're better than others. Henri Toussaud belongs to a very rich and famous political family. They're Royalists, and most of their money comes from their connections to wealthy nobles and the king himself. They're also cowards, quickly moving to the country during the Revolution. I'm proud to say your father and I accumulated our wealth entirely on our own, and would stand up for our values no matter what."  
  
I was already crushed by this revelation of believed superiority in some, but Maman continued, I think unaware of the realization in my heart, or even my continued presence in the room.  
  
"His family just does what's good for them! It doesn't surprise me that their son is a bully. They believe if your parents aren't rich and politically powerful, you don't have a place on Earth. They make me so mad! Then along with most other Royalists! Well, I need to get ready for our guests coming over today."  
  
I stood there for such a long time before I moved again. This was so much for a five-year-old to take in. Being spoken to like an adult was odd. I didn't quite get it. All I knew was that Henri was a mean person. And a Royalist, whatever that is. I think it has something to do with being mean. 


	5. Literacy

Chapter Four – Literacy  
  
I loved books. Everyone in my family loved books. At age four, I learned to read, and immediately took to books like a duck to water. I read novels, nonfiction, nothing too backbreaking, of course, just kiddie stuff at first. Needless to say, I as a fairly well read child for seven years old by the time school rolled around.  
  
Ana could also read by age four. Louis, despite his lack of seriousness about school, still loved reading. My mother knew how to spread the love of something. I think it was the vitality in her eyes, which Louis and Ana inherited, but not me. It's odd, that everyone but Papa and me has brown eyes, but I digress. For many years before school, I could read. My favorite stories were those about historical events and novels where people overcame awful odds. For some reason, I felt so satisfied after one of these stories. Despite my fulfilled feelings I got from reading, in school my love of reading was going to get me trouble. 


	6. School

Chapter Five – School, Age Seven  
  
I went to school at 8:20 in my best outfit I had, eager and hoping to make a good first impression. A mere half-hour into our class and I knew that was a lost hope.  
  
"Class, repeat after me. The first three letters of the alphabet are A, B, and C. A, B, C." Mme Frietag slowly droned. I left it necessary to inform her of something.  
  
"Please, Madame. I know this already." I begged politely. She stared at me and seemed confused for a while before responding.  
  
"Mr. Lambert, in this school, students are not allowed to speak out of turn. Make no sound unless I bid you." She then continued with her awful lesson. How would I learn anything here? I could already read! But I had another question. How could Louis have endured this class? His love of fun would have been choked off here. But I never heard him say anything about it. I managed to make it to lunchtime without speaking, then bolted to the door, ready to ask Louis for some survival tips, when I Mme Frietag summon me.  
  
"Mr. Lambert, please come here."  
  
I walked over trying to keep up a happy outward look. "Can you read, child?"  
  
"Yes, Madame." I said quietly. "Sorry," I continued shyly, "but did you bid me speak there, or was I supposed to nod?" The boredom had left me with a lot of resentment towards this woman.  
  
"Firstly, you may know how to read, but you didn't learn it the way I teach it. Second, you're a cheeky brat. Now go to lunch. If you step out of line again, the consequences will be dire."  
  
I didn't know what "dire" meant, but didn't wait to ask. I ran out, looking for Louis. Finally, I found him at lunch with several friends of his. Many I knew by name. There was Charles Corfeyrac, Lesgles, and several others. Charles was the only really nice one. The others wouldn't usually talk to me.  
"Louis!" I called impatiently.  
"Yes? How is your first day?"  
"Horrible!" I blurted, and then Charles cut me off.  
"Hey, it took me two years of this place to realize that. What makes you say that so early? Aren't you supposed to be a young innocent?" I only realize now how ridiculous the idea of a "wise" ten-year-old is. Then, at that tender age, if a ten-year-old said something, it was gospel. They were a superior race of tall beings that could choose to injure, help, or be indifferent to us inferior seven-year-olds. The "young innocent" comment perfectly embodied this relationship between our ages.  
  
I explained my problem and Louis nodded comprehendingly. At the time, I was certain that anything Louis or one of his friends said was to be the law. I hung on every word Louis said.  
  
"Enjolras, listen carefully," he began prophetically. "I was able to survive Mme Freitag's class by bringing a book and reading it under the desk. She only caught me once the whole year. It wasn't pretty (I was under the impression that he had been through a glamorous but tough battle against Freitag) but it only happened once. Just make sure your attention doesn't wander too far when reading. If you are called on, say, 'oui Madame' and repeat the last sentence she said." Louis finished triumphantly.  
  
I stared at him in awe, and he laughed out loud. "Enjolras, this is simple, and not so awful. Maman knows I did it. She didn't care, so you're okay. Corfeyrac laughed, as well as Lesgles. Charles said, "Louis, why are you telling Enjolras to pretend to zone out? That's not cool!"  
  
"Trust me, Cor. If anyone in the kiddie class can put one over on Freitag, it's my kid brother."  
  
"Agreed." Declared Corfeyrac.  
  
"Well, this is good!" I said, and went to seek kids my age to meet. I saw a quiet child in the corner and went over to introduce myself.  
  
"Hello. My name is Enjolras Lambert. Et vous?" I addressed him formally, not wanting to seem too intrusive.  
  
"I'm Toulouse Combeferre," he replied shyly. I vaguely remembered the kid from the class that morning, and had a feeling that he always kept a low profile. Now, he was reading, as I astutely noticed, and thus deduced the following.  
  
"You can read?" My formality dropped as a deep respect filled my voice in its stead. Toulouse nodded. "Who taught you? My mom taught me to read," I said bluntly, like the seven-year-old that I was.  
  
"My mom's dead. My older sister taught me."  
"Oh. Sorry about your mother. My dad died a while back, before I can remember. What do you like to read?" We exchanged book titles, and I told him of my mother's bookstore. I think he came out of his shell a little bit that day, though I didn't know why it had been there in the first place.  
  
Then, as we walked inside, I heard a young kid, my age but seeming a lot younger, quickly mumbling "A, B, C" over and over. He was really nervous and tripped over a rock in his haste to get back in class and prove his knowledge of the first three letters. Henri Toussaud came up behind the poor kid, whose glasses had fallen off, and picked up the glasses with no intent of giving them back. "Hey, four-eyes, will you be needing these? Try not to have a heart attack over the first three letters, trust me, it's the least of your worries," he declared darkly.  
  
Emboldened by some unknown force, I called out, "Shut up, Henri! Maybe some of us want to learn to read, unlike obvious others." He grudgingly handed back the glasses and called mean names as the focus of his bullying nature changed from the terrified "four-eyes" to myself. "Cheeky brat!" was the last insult I made out. He sounded like Mme Freitag saying that.  
  
Well, I felt better about the new "school" thing after Louis helped me, and I'd deflated Henri, so I was comfortable. I helped the shocked, glasses-less child to his feet and introduced myself.  
  
"Enjolras Lambert. Comment t'appelles-tu?" After a moment's hesitation, he spoke.  
  
"Je m'appelle Gerard Feuilly." Then he ran inside. Combeferre and I shook our heads and walked back in class.  
  
After school, as we readied ourselves to leave, Gerard thanked me for fending off Henri. I told him how I once was even more helpless, and Toulouse agreed with Gerard and me that Henri was definitely the worse part of school. From that point on, the three of us were inseparable. 


	7. Republican?

Chapter Six – Republican?  
  
After school, Maman and Petit Ana were very excited to hear Louis' and my stories of the day. I told them basically everything (except the Henri episode) and Louis followed suit. The next day of school we learned five whole letters, but I had taken Louis' advice. A book was under my desk and I was reading intently, but still keeping an ear out for Mme Frietag's incessant droning. At lunch, Toulouse, Gerard, and I sat together. Toulouse and I would help Gerard with the alphabet, (which he picked up rather quickly) and Gerard would tell us fantastical stories he could naturally come up with off the top of his head. We had such fun together. Then, a few weeks into the year, during lunch, I was forced to leave the table by Mme Frietag. Toulouse looked worried, but said nothing. Gerard turned an interesting shade of off-white in terror, but I walked off with no intimidation in my step. Louis saw this and said loudly, "Mme Frietag, that's another Lambert you're dealing with! Watch out!" His friends laughed.  
  
I laughed nervously, knowing this could be nothing good. When I reached the now-empty classroom with her, she produced my book from her desk. "You left this on your chair, M. Lambert." I nodded and started to ask for it back when she continued.  
"You know the author of this book has Republican tendencies?" WHAT? I go from a supposed illiterate to political guru in two weeks? Is she crazy? "M. Lambert, I need to confiscate this. Nothing by this author is allowed in this school building, do you understand me?" I nodded dumbly, scrambling for understanding. "You may go back to lunch."  
  
I did so. Slowly. I had a vague feeling that I had heard the word Republican before. Maybe I had heard it from my mother, indeed, that was most likely. I'd ask her soon, and then I wondered why I had not asked her before. In the meantime, I'd ask Louis, and maybe 'Ferre too.  
  
"Louis!" He turned around eagerly.  
"How'd it go?" He then turned back to his friends, "See! He's still standing!" Then back to me.  
"Fine, I think. What's a Republican?"  
"A guy who doesn't like Kings. Why?"  
"Apparently the author of the book I was reading is one. I accidentally left my book behind, and she found it. Then she said that I couldn't have it back because the author doesn't like Kings."  
"Well, sometimes that's just how it works out. Sorry little guy."  
  
"Maman?"  
"What is it dear?"  
  
I made up my mind to ask why being someone who doesn't like kings is such a big problem. I wasn't so sure I loved kings myself, I mean, they don't do much for the people. And in most books I read, they tended to be mean and uncaring. But I knew those were just books. In real life, I hadn't heard much about the King. To me, he was a name, nothing more. So what if someone didn't like him?  
  
"My book I was reading was taken by Mme Frietag because she said that the author was a Republican." Maman didn't seem to like this conversation very much.  
"I see," was her only response.  
"But why is that a problem? I don't understand. If you don't like kings then that doesn't mean anything. Does it?" She shook her head. Then she called Louis and Ana into the room.  
"If I'm going to tell Enjolras, I may as well tell you too. Just make sure never to tell any of this political talk to anyone. Even if you trust them. It's too dangerous."  
  
I was never told so much. I realized now that I was a Republican. Maman gave me a few books to read, which, admittedly, I didn't understand fully until a few years later, but I gobbled them up at my half- understanding stage anyway. The danger of the situation was hard pressed upon me, and I didn't even mention it to Ferre or Fay. (We had long since adopted shortened versions of our last names, though for some reason I remained "Enjolras" or sometimes "Enj". Lambert is too common a name to use, I guess.)  
  
I managed to keep quiet, though it was very hard. I would often be silent through long stretches of conversation when I would normally be wont to speak. Ferre noticed it, and told me to stop being so quiet, and I soon learned to ignore my impulse to discuss the politics. It was not long before it settled firmly into the back of my mind.  
I was to learn much, much more the day we had our first history lesson. 


End file.
